


how am I gonna be an optimist about this?

by GreyishBlue



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Appropriate wearing of masks, M/M, Meet-Cute, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Pandemic - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Silly silly masks, Sort of? Maybe more of a meet-dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: It's a Tuesday morning in New York. There's a pandemic, but Bucky needs to pick up a package from the post office. Obviously everything is going to go well with this plan.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 29
Kudos: 153
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies





	how am I gonna be an optimist about this?

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a plotbunny that was birthed by like three people in the Clintucky Fried Chicken discord, and we all decided to write from it, so.. you might see this story a few times from different folks XD
> 
> Sorry I haven't been writing lately *gestures at the outside world*

Going to the post office feels like a harrowing adventure in New York at the best of times, but a robot attack in the middle of a pandemic has to be some kind of record for dumb shit he’s gotten in the middle of. In all fairness, Bucky thinks, he didn’t know about the robot attack part when he put on his mask earlier this morning. Now he’s ducked behind a rusted dumpster, clutching a package he doesn’t even remember ordering to his chest like it’s going to shield him. Thinking back, he’s pretty sure he’s just risked his life for a joke t-shirt. 

“Okay, if I make it out of this alive, no more drunk ordering things on the internet for future me.” His voice is muffled behind his mask, which is pulling double duty at the moment keeping the smell of exploded robot parts from overwhelming him entirely. Which actually puts a mark toward drunk past Bucky’s taste, he’d ordered the mask while deep into a bottle of red wine. It’s fairly comfortable, easy to wash, and “If Found, Return To Hawkeye” is emblazoned across the front in looping purple letters. Wine Drunk Bucky has zero control of his thirst for pretty blonde heroes, and an eye for sensible pandemic preparations. 

He’s about half a panic attack deep into an inner debate on the pros and cons of internet shopping when a loud metallic crunch rings through the alley he’s crouching in. The robot that steps into view is a chaotic mish-mash of parts, like an overzealous Colossus cosplayer. A stilted shamble moves it forward efficiently while the head-like protrusion swings slowly across the alley, searching. Another screech of dragging limbs catching on brickwork is all Bucky needs to get himself moving. He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, no destination in mind other than away from Frankenmachine. 

Running half blinded by panic while clutching a stupid t shirt in the death grip of his prosthetic hand is the shittiest Tuesday morning he can imagine so far. He looks up when an ominous crunching sound draws his attention, and just manages to get out “Ohfuck” before things go dark.

**↔ ↔ ↔**

Most of Clint’s right side is covered in motor oil and the rest isn’t clean by any stretch of the word. Overall though, he’s in surprisingly good condition for the end of a fight. He cringes a little bit when he’s stretching to help steady a civilian, and mentally adds a few bruised ribs to the tally. Still, pretty good. Nothing Nat will yell at him for with more than maybe an eyebrow raise. 

Like the bizarre summoning ritual it is, thinking of her seems to materialize her voice in his comms, “Hey  _ Hawkeye _ , I’ve got one here for you. Bainbridge, in front of Doc’s cakes.”   
  
He heads in her direction, too busy carefully picking his way through chunks of brick and rock to be fazed by the weird inflection on his title. Almost all of them found some way to needle Steve for his insistence on '' _good communications etiquette during missions_ '' anyway. Clint finds Nat crouching next to a dude that’s pretty well passed out. She looks worlds better than she’s got any right to, barely a hair out of place and the small bruise across her cheek somehow looks like she wanted it there in the first place. Infuriating and awe inspiring in equal measure, Clint feels like three whole feelings about his best friend before he remembers to actually check on the person laying at her feet.

He’s definitely big enough that she might have trouble moving him herself - not tall, but broad through the chest and arms. Nothing stands out for why she asked for Clint specifically or the amusement all across the half of her face he can see.

“How can I help, Nat?” He grins at the little sigh he can just catch across the comms. Always worth it to bother Steve.   
  
“His pulse is steady. Looks like he got knocked in the head by some debris,” There’s enough mischief in her eyes when she looks up that Clint gets a shiver, “I’m just respecting his wishes.”   
  
With that utterly unhelpful explanation, she stands and gives him a friendly pat directly across his bruised ribs as she heads further into the rubble strewn area to find others in need of aid. He sighs, resigns himself to at least pretending to see a medic after this, and crouches down to get a better look and hopefully figure out what the hell Nat is up to now. 

The first thing he notices is the mask across the guy’s face. It’s dusty, but legible, and the little message is actually pretty funny. He’s mystified at this new example of his merch - who the hell is making this stuff? The guy groans quietly, and Clint looks over the rest of him. Shoulder length hair that’s probably a pretty shade of brown under the dust layer, cheekbones to die for, a little scruff visible at the corner of his jaw just peeking out from under the fabric. 

Getting the guy up takes some effort, he’s a lot heavier than Clint would have guessed. His left arm is unyielding when it falls to smack directly across Clint’s knee just as he’s finally getting the guy up in a decent impression of a bridal carry. He’s hissing a few choice words through the pain when there’s another fuzzy groan from his armload. 

The sound resolves into a deep raspy voice after a few minutes, bleary and confused, "Holy shit you're Clint Barton. Did I die?” His arms clasp around Clint’s shoulders as if on instinct - one flesh and the other distinctly not, but moving the same for all that. He barely stops for breath as he stares up at Clint’s bewildered face. “Did some stupid kitchen sink robots from Dr.Doom kill me? That can't be how I went out, what the fuck."

Clint takes a moment to blink and gather his wayward thoughts. Because the guy in his arms is… a lot, now that he’s awake and has pretty blue eyes and a lot of questions delivered in a voice Clint might kill something to keep hearing. 

"Hey bud, ugh.. Uh, what’s your name?” He cringes at himself, never one for smooth openings even in the best situations.

The guy’s dark brows draw together slightly before he replies, “I’m Bucky. Please tell me I’m not dead?”

Clint’s eyes widen and he babbles quickly as he tries to carefully pick his way back to the waiting EMTs and ambulances. “You're not dead! Uh, or if you are, then I am too and I haven’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with Lady Death."

Bucky’s reply is a slightly subdued and still puzzled  _ Oh _ . Clint focuses on clambering up some semi-stable rubble while holding a baffled man with a slight head injury. His foot slips a bit before he can regain his balance and Bucky’s arms tighten across his shoulders. There’s a lot of strength there, and Clint feels grateful to have the help rather than hauling someone unconscious through this mess. Even if that means he keeps feeling disconcertingly blue eyes on him. 

It’s only when he’s setting Bucky carefully down to sit on a cot in the makeshift triage area that Clint realizes something, “You recognized me.”

Bucky’s head whips up quickly enough that he grimaces, clearly regretting his choices, “Yeah, ‘course. The whole... outfit thing. You’re Hawkeye.” 

Clint narrows his eyes, “Mask is just black, couldn’t have seen the rest when you woke up, and you called me Clint Barton.” 

Bucky can feel a blush rushing up from his chest, fiercely glad for a moment to have an excuse for covering his face. But Clint’s eyes flit to the tips of his ears, where he can feel the blush spreading at the careful scrutiny. He knows he’s caught, so he goes with the truth, "Look, you’re like… the hottest Avenger, alright?”

Clint snorts a laugh hard enough that Bucky can see his mask shift with it, "Okaaay there, Buck. We are definitely getting you checked for a concussion. You know Thor is on the team, right?"

"Look, okay obviously the alien or god or whatever from outer space is nice to look at.” Bucky’s clearly picking up steam, gesturing with his hands and sliding into an accent that outs him as a New York native, “But on like a scale of 'dudes I would actually want to get a coffee with  _ and _ bang like a screen door in a hurricane', you rate the highest."

Clint shuffles awkwardly, looking around like maybe an EMT can save him from this incredibly earnest, deep voiced and gorgeous eyed guy slinging compliments. Before he can figure out how to respond, Bucky’s eyes widen and he barrels on, words falling rapid-fire as he tries to backtrack.

"Aw, dude. Sorry, I gotta learn not to just say shit. Everyone tells me I have no tact,” Bucky is frowning hard enough that Clint can see it in the edges of his face around the mask, “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm okay now if you need to go, I appreciate the rescue."

Clint huffs a confused sound through his mask and scrambles for the right words, "No uh! That's not… shit, can I have a redo?"

Bucky blinks those pretty blue eyes up at him and just nods, so Clint goes on.

"You want to get that coffee with me when this," he gestures in the odd shorthand everyone's picked up to encompass the current pandemic, "is over?"

Bucky laughs, eyes crinkling in mirth above his mask, "Are you trying to set up a date for after the apocalypse?"

Clint sputters, rubs the back of his neck self consciously. Bucky doesn't need to see his face to read the sheepishness in every line of his body. Feeling merciful and grinning like a fox under his mask, he continues, "How about a zoom date sometime soon instead? I don't feel like waiting it out before getting a chance to know my valiant rescuer."

Bucky’s day goes from hellish to the best one he’s had all year when Clint pulls out his StarkPhone, screen spiderwebbed with cracks. They exchange numbers, bits of blush visible around the edges of their masks. That accomplished, it’s easier to just chat for the little while they have to wait for someone to come check over Bucky.   
  
A harried looking EMT walks up a few minutes later and looks over both of them quickly, “Thanks Hawkeye, I’ve got it from here.” She shoos Clint toward the larger of the tents set up in the street, “Black Widow said if I don’t send you to Cho for your ribs she would find me later, so could you please do that, for me?” 

Clint huffs a sigh, but nods his agreement. He gives Bucky a cheery wave as he walks in the direction he’s been told. Bucky waves back, a little silly and overeager. It makes something in Clint’s chest tighten to see someone so enthusiastic, about him no less. As he’s waiting on Dr.Cho, he pulls his phone back out. He sends Natasha a quick thank you and admits he might owe her a favor now. 

He can’t even start worrying about what he should send to Bucky, there’s already a picture waiting there of him with a white kitten perched on his shoulder. Clint melts a little bit and finds his favorite shot of himself with Lucky to send back. It’s really not what he was expecting out of a morning doing Avengers duty, but he’ll certainly take it.   


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Return to Hawkeye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403354) by [pherryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt)
  * [If Lost, Return to Hawkeye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405208) by [hopelessly_me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me/pseuds/hopelessly_me)
  * [If Found](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482955) by [TiBun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiBun/pseuds/TiBun)




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